Don't Panic, I've Got You
by firegirl956
Summary: Dean has a really horrible nightmare, which leads to a panic attack. Sam helps him through it. Protective!Sam and Sad!Scared!Weak Dean. Rated T for swearing and sadness. Cute brotherly-love, NOT Wincest.
1. Chapter 1

_"Don't panic, I've got you."_

Chapter 1

 _The forest was drenched in darkness._

 _He stumbled through the mass of trees, calling out for help. His heart was pounding and his forehead was sweaty, despite the cold of the night. He felt scared, more scared than he had felt in his whole life. He knew what was coming for him… he knew what they would do. He knew he was a dead man._

 _But that didn't stop him from trying to escape._

 _He heard a bark from far away, and that was when he took off running._

 _Over roots, through shrubbery, around trunks, he ran like his life depended on it._

 _Because it did._

 _The barks and growls got nearer, and he ran even harder, sprinting through the dark woods. His legs felt like fire and the uneven ground made his teeth rattle, but he didn't care. If they caught up with him, that wouldn't even matter. Nothing would matter._

 _His breaths became heavy with exhaustion, but he kept running. He had to. He couldn't go… not now…_

 _They were right behind him now, their menacing barks cutting through the silence of the night. He tried to run even faster, but it was impossible. His legs were trembling in fear and his chest felt like it was going to cave in._

I can't die, _he thought desperately._ I was just trying to save him… I couldn't live without him. Why was an eternity in Hell the price I had to pay for my brother?

 _The ground was rushing towards him all of the sudden, and he landed on the dirt with a loud "oof!"_

 _He immediately made to get up, but it was too late._

 _They attacked him, clawing their way up his legs and then tearing open the flesh on his chest, making blood spurt from under their claws. He screamed and writhed in agony, and in that moment, he could feel every nerve, every vein, and every muscle in his body turn to fire._

"Dean!" _a voice cried out from far away. He longed to answer the person, or call for help. But he could feel himself slipping away, his lips unable to move and his mouth open in a permanent scream._

"Wake up, Dean!" _The voice screamed, closer this time, and something large and heavy struck him across the face._

 _He could still feel the skin being torn on his chest, and his screams grew louder…_

"Dean, you have to wake up! Dean!" _The voice sounded desperate now, and several heavy blows struck his face._

 _Spots covered his vision, and the forest around him started to disappear._

"Dean! Wake up, you're dreaming!" _The voice yelled, right next to him now._

 _If this was what Hell was like, then it wasn't so bad. He couldn't hear the hounds anymore, and everything was so nice and quiet._

 _But then he started to burn._

 _Flames licked up and down his already injured body, scalding his skin. He screamed, the pain unbearable. The smell of burning flesh reached his nose, and he gagged, the smell absolutely repulsive._

 _He was powerless to do anything as he burned alive, the pain more intense than anything he has ever felt. He would have taken the hellhounds ripping him apart one hundred times instead of this incessant burning. The fire caught on his arms, and he was powerless to do anything but scream as his skin bubbled, blackened, and started to peel._

 _Suddenly, a mirage of painful images and memories started to play in his mind as he burned, almost has if it was a movie. Every person who he couldn't save, ever tortured face, his dad's death…_

 _The fire suddenly stopped, and the scene changed._

 _There were abandoned buildings all around him. The sky was dark and the night was cloudy. It took him a second to gather his bearings, and when he looked down at himself, he realized that everything was fine. He wasn't burned, he wasn't mauled… he was fine._

 _He heard a commotion on his right, and he turned._

 _He saw his brother standing there, staring down at an apparently unconscious man. The man seemed oddly familiar, and he stared at him, trying to recognize him._

 _"Sam!" a voice cried out. Sam turned, and he mirrored him, trying to find who said his brother's name._

 _He was shocked to find himself and Bobby walking quickly towards Sam. He stared at his other form, watching as relief filled his features. He then realized that he was just an apparition, and all he could do was watch._

 _"Dean," Sam said in solace, clutching his apparently hurt arm. A smile of relief flashed across his brother's face._

 _Scuffling from behind him made Dean turn, and he saw the man who was unconscious just moments ago pick up a knife._

 _The pieces clicked into place, and Dean immediately remembered._

 _The man's name was Jake, and he was in the Cold Oak, South Dakota, also known as the most haunted place in the country._

 _Not only was it the most haunted place in the country, it was where he brother died._

 _Dread filled him at the thought of having to relive this. He had prevented reliving this memory ever since it happened. It was so painful that he knew if he had to see it again, the walls that he carefully constructed around himself would crumble, letting all of his emotions flow out._

 _Jake began to run towards Sam, and Dean cried out "NO!"_

 _"Sam, look out!" His other self cried out._

 _Dean was powerless to do anything but watch as his younger brother got impaled with the knife._

 _He saw the color drain from Sam's face, and the other version of himself ran towards him. Dean tried to run to his fallen brother, but some invisible force locked him in place, unable to move. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to get rid of this dream like he always did. He pinched himself, trying to wake himself up._

 _He opened his eyes, revealing the fact that his technique didn't work, and that this wasn't a nightmare._

 _It was real._

 _It was just as painful as the first time. The light was leaving Sam's eyes as his other self bargained and attempted bravado, like he always did when a situation got emotional._

 _Tears were flowing down Dean's cheeks as he watched his other self hold his brother tight, a steady stream of denials running out of his mouth._

 _This hurt more than anything. This hurt more than the burning, more than the hounds. He would do anything, ANYTHING… to prevent himself from reliving this memory anymore._

 _Sam's eyes closed, and Dean knew he was gone._

 _Pain tore through his chest as an inhumane howl left his lips._

 _He fell to the ground and sobbed openly, the grief of his brother's death overtaking every other rational thought._

"Dean!"

There was one final blow to the face, and the eyes of Dean Winchester flew open.

 _~End Chapter 1~_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He was immediately on his feet, agilely jumping out of bed and dashing to get a gun. He grabbed one from a table and pressed his back against a wall, his eyes wildly trying to assess his situation.

His heart was racing as he looked around him, knowing that he was surely in Hell.

He was shocked when all he saw was a trashy motel room, with papers and clothes thrown everywhere. The ugly yellow paint on the walls was chipped, and there was a crack in the ceiling. He closed his eyes and shook his head: It seemed like just yesterday he had pulled up to this motel with his brother, his motive trying to find a place to sleep while the investigated a series of murders from the town over.

He was confused; why was this Hell? Wasn't Hell supposed to be fiery and horrible? Sure, this motel room wasn't the best, but it wasn't Hell…

"Dean?" A low and timid voice asked. Dean jumped violently and opened his eyes, trying to find the source of the noise.

His heart stopped when he saw who it came from.

His brother was standing by one of the beds, on his feet. He had his hands in the air, like he was surrendering. Surrendering to what? Dean didn't know. Sam's face was pale, and his eyes were wide, almost fearful. He was wearing his pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt, and his hair was messy from sleep. Dean pointed it at his brother, absolutely unable to believe that it was his brother in front of him.

 _It's impossible… Sam's dead, and in heaven…He can't be here… This must be some sort of apparition or demon, trying to get me to admit things to someone I trust. And what better form than my brother, someone who I would tell anything to._

"Who are you?" Dean barked, trying and failing to keep fear from his voice.

Confusion crossed 'Sam's' face, his eyes widening even more. "What do you mean, who am I? I'm your brother!"

"Oh really?" Dean scoffed, gripping the gun tighter and trying to stop his hands from shaking. "Prove it!"

'Sam' took a deep breath. "My name is Sam Winchester. I am the brother of Dean Winchester, who is 4 years older than me and was born on January 24th, 1979. I was born on May 2nd, 1983. Our mother died in a nursery on the day of my six month birthday, and from that point on, our dad raised us as hunters. I was about to go to college at Stanford but then you came and told me that Dad was missing, so we left and hunted down—"

"Okay, okay," Dean said, narrowing his eyes. "What are you—"

A sudden revelation hit him, making him sick to his stomach and sending chills down his spine.

"You did not," Dean whispered, gripping the gun tighter. "You made a deal, didn't you?!"

Something unidentifiable crossed Sam's face. "Dean—"

"How could you, Sam?!" Dean yelled. "You got yourself sent to Hell! After I sacrificed myself, you go and make a deal?!"

"Dean, listen to me—" Sam tried to talk again.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean yelled, the gun trembling in his hands. His legs suddenly felt weak and his heart broke into a sprint. "I can't belie—"

The breath was knocked from him before he could even finish his sentence, and he doubled over, unable to fill his lungs with the needed amount of oxygen. He gasped for breath, putting his hands on his knees and attempted to get a grip on himself. A cold panic filled him, almost as if he was dumped into a bathtub full of ice-cubes.

"Dean?" He vaguely heard Sam say. "Hey, are you okay?"

He could barely hear his brother, all he could hear was a sharp ringing in his ears.

He tried to stand up straight and steady himself, but his legs were quaking so violently that he couldn't even try to stand without falling flat on his face.

The room began to spin as Dean crashed to the ground on all fours, his legs finally giving out. All he could feel was a mind-numbing panic, so intense that he couldn't see straight.

Tears filled his eyes when he remembered the dream that he just witnessed. He could almost feel the hellhounds ripping apart his skin and tearing up his insides, which suddenly felt like they were on fire. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

"Calm down, Dean," Sam's soothing voice reached his ears. "Deep breaths… Deep breaths…"

Dean shook his head violently, the tears threatening to slip. "I… I…" He desperately tried to grasp onto some snarky response to Sam's apparent worry, but he couldn't focus on anything long enough to say it. His mind was too occupied with hellhounds, burning, and his brother's death.

"Dean," He vaguely heard Sam say. "Look at me, Dean. Hey—"

He felt a hand touch him, and Dean jumped violently, inching away from the threat. His back hit a wall and he shook, the room spinning at alarming speeds. He quivered against the wall, more scared than he had ever been in his life. He shut his eyes, tears falling down his face.

"Dean," Sam said again, his voice quiet. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"N-N..." Dean tried to say, but he was shaking so much that he couldn't get the words out. "F-F…"

"Hey," Sam said quietly, and Dean could feel movement around him. Silent sobs suddenly shook his body, and the tears fell faster.

He felt an arm around him then, but this time, he relished in the contact. There was a strange longing in the pit of his stomach, a longing for comfort, for relief... for affection.

"Shh," Sam whispered, his tone quiet, soothing, and slightly appalled. "You're okay… You're okay… You're not in Hell… you're here, in Minnesota with me…"

Momentarily relief filled Dean as he realized that he wasn't in Hell, but then he remembered the dream he just had, and the relief vanished, replaced by despair.

Dean didn't say anything as Sam pulled him close. He buried his face in Sam's chest, still crying silently. He hated crying… He really did. He always tried to put on a façade and denied his emotions, but tonight… something was different.

Sam didn't say much while Dean completely came undone in his arms. He just held his brother and rubbed his quivering back, trying to send as much comfort and affection as he possible could through his actions. He hated seeing his brother completely fall apart like this. He was always the strong one, the one who held his emotions behind a solid mental wall that was impossible to break. He always tried to get Dean to share his emotions, as he knew they were absolutely eating him up on the inside, but after trying time and time again, he just accepted the fact that he was never going to share.

But now…

 _That dream must have been really horrible,_ Sam thought to himself, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. _I didn't know anything could do this to him… Our father dying didn't even do this to him, and he was the person that Dean absolutely idolized… What was that dream about? What could have caused him to fall apart like this?_

As Sam pondered the possible causes of Dean's panic attack, a war raged in Dean's head.

 _Get a hold of yourself,_ He scolded himself. _You're making a fool of yourself. You're crying on your younger brother… the younger brother you're_ supposed _to be strong for. Stop acting like a chick, and more importantly, stop your stupid crying!_

He tried to stop thinking about the dream he just had, or the looming fact that Hell was waiting for him, but no matter how hard he tried, he just _couldn't…_

He suddenly became aware of the fact that Hell was ineluctably waiting for him, whether it be in a few months or in a few years. This realization scared Dean more than the dream ever could, and the panic the resided in him intensified.

Eventually, Dean cried himself out, and went limp against his younger brother. He was still shaking, though, and no matter how hard he tried to stop, he couldn't.

Silence fell in the motel room as Dean tried to get a grip on his emotions. His breathing was slowly starting to even out, and he didn't feel as panicked.

The panic slowly resided, and the shaking started to become less severe.

Sam finally broke the silence.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly, his deep voice echoing in the quiet room.

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Silence filled the room once again as Dean finally stopped shaking.

"Jesus," Dean whispered finally, removing his face from his brother's chest, moving away from him, and wiping his tears. "I'm turning into a chick. I'm expecting to grow boobs."

Dean expected Sam to laugh, and for the awkwardness to pass.

His brother didn't laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. He just stared at Dean, his eyes slightly narrowed and his forehead creased in worry.

"I feel like I need to go to a monster truck rally or something," Dean said, grinning. "Get the testosterone flowing, you know? Maybe drink a few beers, hook up with someone, eat a double bacon cheeseburger... you know, the works."

He was desperately trying to change the subject, as he knew Sam was going to question him about what just happened. He didn't want to relive that experience, or his dream, ever again.

Sam still didn't smile or laugh. Instead, he crossed his large arms and stared at Dean.

"I heard that there was a nice bar just down the street," Dean babbled, clutching at any excuse to change the subject. "Some dudes were mentioning a hot bartender too… I heard she's a blonde, and she's working on her PhD. Blonde, smart… Just your type, Sammy. What do you say?"

Sam remained completely stoic.

The grin slowly faded from Dean's face as he realized there was no getting out of this talk. Oh well… he couldn't blame his brother. He did just fall apart on him, after all.

He sighed. "Go ahead and ask. I know you're dying to."

"What just happened, Dean?" Sam asked quietly. "One minute I'm completely asleep, the next I'm standing by your bed, shouting at you to wake up while you're screaming like you're being murdered. And then, about a second later, you're holding a gun at me and accusing me of killing myself and getting sent to Hell."

Dean looked away from his brother as shame fell on him. _It sounds worse when you say it aloud._

"Then you had a panic attack," Sam whispered, sympathy clouding his green eyes. "I know you don't like talking about this, Dean, but I have to know… what was your dream about?"

Dean looked down and began to pick at the carpet, an unsettling cold falling over him. Once again, panic began to blossom in the pit of his stomach.

"It's nothing," Dean said quietly, his tone gruff. His heart had started to pound again as he struggled to quell the panic that was once again threatening to take him over.

"It's not nothing, Dean," Sam whispered, his face softening. "I know, Dean… you don't like to share your emotions, and I get that… but please… I don't want you to face this alone."

"That's exactly what you're going to do," Dean said, his head snapping up and his eyes meeting his brother's. His heart was racing, and he grappled with the part of his mind that began to show the images from his dream again. He made his face stoic and emotionless, trying to show his brother that everything was alright. "You're going to go back to bed, and forget this ever happened. Because that's what I'm going to do."

"You can't bury this, Dean… you know you can't."

"Too bad," Dean said unemotionally. He turned away from his brother and made to stand up. "I'm not going to talk about this, Sam. Not now, not ever."

"Did you dream about Hell, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean froze in the action of standing up, his form going rigid. He didn't say anything as he slowly sat back down, facing his brother once again.

"You need to talk about this, Dean. I know you don't want to, and I know you're scared to let your emotions show, but I'm not going to let you carry this alone. So please, Dean… let me help you." Sam whispered.

Dean looked down again and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his tone was impassive. "You can't help me, Sam. No one can."

"Let me try."

Anger flared inside of him. Why didn't his brother understand? He didn't want to share his feelings, and he certainly didn't want to relive that dream.

But then he realized that his brother wouldn't give up unless he told him about the dream, and he finally gave in.

"Fine," Dean said angrily, baring his teeth. "I'll tell you about my _dream._ I had a dream that a bunch of Hellhounds _ripped me to shreds._ Happy now?"

Sam stared at him, examining his face. He stared into his older brother's eyes.

"No, I'm not happy," Sam said slowly, still scrutinizing his brother through narrowed eyes. "There's something else."

"For the love of God," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not lying!"

"I never said you were lying. I said that there was something else to the dream that you're not telling me. A nightmare about Hellhounds couldn't cause you to have a panic attack, Dean. I know you."

 _Goddammit,_ Dean inwardly cursed his brother for being so observant. _I am not talking about this. No way. I can't relive it._

"I don't want to talk about it," He snapped angrily.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his long hair. "Dean, please… let me help you."

"I don't want to talk about it…" He said again. The anger had left him, leaving him tired and sad. He didn't want to fight with his brother. He only had a month left with him.

Sam sighed. "Dean—"

"Please don't make me talk about it, Sam," Dean whispered, trying his hardest to repress the images that threatened to run through his head again. "Please… I can't."

Sam stared at his brother, his heart aching as he watched Dean shut his eyes for a second and take a deep breath. His mask was starting to crack, Sam could see the emotions start to flit across his face. Dean looked down at the carpet, seemingly trying to avoid eye-contact.

"I'm sorry, Dean...I don't want you to go through this alone." Sam said, reaching out and grasping his brother's shoulders. "Hey, look at me."

Dean looked up at his younger brother. Sam's eyes were filled with concern and pain, and it made his heart lurch. He knew he was killing his brother by keeping this from him. Sam hated being in the dark about things, and he hated seeing Dean in pain.

Dean's eyes filled with tears.

"I dreamt that I was running through a forest," Dean said, unable to stop his voice from shaking. "And I was being chased by Hellhounds. They… they finally caught up to me, and ripped me to shreds."

Dean paused, taking a shuttering breath and tried to control his emotions. This wasn't even the worst part about the dream and he was already about to fall apart.

"The pain… the pain was horrible. But then, suddenly, I felt… I felt like I was burning."

Sam's eyes held nothing but concern. "Burning?" He asked, turning his head slightly.

Dean nodded, picking at the carpet again. "Burning. I was on fire… the skin was burning off of my bones… and it smelled, Sammy. It was so gross…. Ten times worse than anything we've ever done." Dean took a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea that began to rise. "It hurt so bad…"

The panic greatened as he realized what came next in his dream.

"Then… then the s-scene changed," Dean whispered, his voice shaking. "And I was in Cold Oak, South Dakota."

Confusion flitted across Sam's face, then shocking realization, then horror.

"Oh…" He whispered. Dean nodded, beginning to shake again.

"I saw it happen again. I saw Jake take that knife, and stab you right in the back with it," He whispered, the tears falling. "I saw you fall, I saw the color drain from your face… I saw the lights leave your eyes…"

Sam's face was a mixture of horror and pity.

"I had suppressed that memory for so long, Sammy," Dean said, sobs escaping him. "And now that it's in my head so vividly again, I can't help but thinking… what if I was quicker? What if I would have gone through that one stoplight instead of stopping? What if we didn't stop and eat, and had just driven the whole way through? I could have saved you, I could have saved us… and now, I'm going to Hell in a month, Sam… and I just can't do it anymore…"

He dissolved into sobs, his whole frame shaking in grief. Sam quickly captured his weeping brother in his arms. Dean gripped the back of Sam's shirt, waves of desolation radiating off of him. Sam rocked them back and forth slowly and murmured a steady stream of reassurances in Dean's ear, trying to weather the onslaught of sadness that was coming from his brother.

"I've got you," Sam whispered, shutting his eyes and holding Dean tighter. "And I won't let you go."

 _~End of Chapter 2~_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

After a while, the silent sobs lost intensity and the tears began to dry, signaling that the storm was almost over. Dean was left shivering violently against his brother, so exhausted that even lifting his head off of Sam's chest was a daunting task. He didn't want to sleep, though. No, actually, he never wanted to sleep again. Ever.

"S-Sam?" Dean whispered, his throat raw.

"Yes?" Sam responded quietly.

"C-Can you get me some c-c-coffee?"

It was silent as Sam processed Dean's question. "Dean, it's three in the morning… if you drink coffee now, you'll be up all night."

"Please, Sam," Dean whispered, still shaking. "I… I don't w-want to go to s-sleep again…"

Sam sighed. He knew this was going to happen; there was no way Dean would want to go back to sleep and take the chance of reliving his nightmares again. And Sam couldn't blame him.

But Sam knew that Dean needed to sleep. He would be miserable and exhausted the next day, and they had a lot of driving to do.

"Dean…" Sam said softly. "You need sleep… I know you don't want to, but you're going to be miserable tomorrow–"

"I don't care," Dean said, his voice stronger but still laced with exhaustion. "I don't c-care if I'm tired tomorrow, I c-can't go to sleep, I don't want to–"

"Okay, shh, shh," Sam said, shushing his brother when his voice started to get hysterical. "I'll get you coffee."

Dean didn't say anything as Sam gently removed Dean's shaking hands from his shirt and stood up, walking over to the tiny kitchen and making a pot of coffee. Dean sat against the wall, his head bowed and eyes closed. He was still shivering, but the panic was finally beginning to dissipate.

As the coffee was brewing, Sam watched his older brother from across the room. He watched as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling. He had never seen Dean look so hopeless and vulnerable in his life.

Sam was unsure of what to do. His brother was always so strong, so hard, so impersonal… it was so strange seeing him just break down and sob.

 _I can't blame him,_ Sam thought as he searched for something to put the coffee in. _He just had to relive my death… I would probably go insane if I saw my brother die and was helpless to do anything._

With a jolt, Sam realized that he would probably be in the exact same position in about a month, when his brother goes to Hell.

 _Don't think about it,_ Sam scolded himself. _Help your brother with his problems now, worry about what's going to happen in a month later._

Sam finally found a mug and poured the coffee in it, watching the dark liquid escape the pot and enter the mug. He picked up the mug and brought it over to his brother, sitting down on the carpet in front of him and putting it in his shaking hands. Dean brought it up to his lips and drank, the liquid burning his mouth and throat.

His hands were shaking so violently that some of the coffee sloshed out of the mug and fell onto Dean's pajama pants.

He tried to focus on the taste of the coffee instead of the whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in his head.

 _You should have been faster. You should have stopped it from happening._

Dean drank the coffee faster and shut his eyes.

 _You shouldn't have stopped to eat. You shouldn't have slept so late._

He drank even faster.

 _You should have run to him when you got there instead of staring at him like an idiot. You should have protected him._

He was now positively chugging the coffee now, not caring about the temperature of the drink or the fact that it was burning his mouth and throat.

"Dean, stop! You're going to burn your mouth!"

Dean didn't stop.

 _He's your little brother. It was your job to protect him. You should have protected him._

He downed the rest of the coffee and then put the mug down. He clutched his throat, which felt like he had swallowed a match. He groaned… maybe chugging the coffee was a bad idea.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, concern and confusion on his face.

"Y-Yes," Dean choked out, still grabbing his throat. "M'fine."

"Did you burn your throat?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded as a brutal shiver ripped through him. Somehow, the scalding coffee that he just drank did nothing to stop the shaking.

Sam immediately stood up, grabbed the thickest blanket he could find from the bed, walked back over to his brother, and draped it around his shaking shoulders.

"T-Thank you," Dean whispered, pulling the blanket tightly around himself.

"You're welcome," Sam said quietly.

Dean smiled slightly, then yawned.

Sam frowned. "Dean, can you at least try and sleep?"

Dean shook his head, looking like a six year old who wanted to stay up past his bedtime to watch his favorite cartoon.

Sam sighed. "Dean—"

"I'm not going to sleep, Sammy," Dean said, his voice strong. Sam's frown deepened and Dean sighed. "You can go to bed, you know. No one's making you stay up with me."

"I'm not going to leave you alone with your thoughts, Dean," Sam said, setting his mouth in a stubborn line. "I'm not going to bed unless you do."

"Sam, I'm not six—"

"Well, Dean, you just had two panic attacks, and you are shivering like it's the middle of January," Sam said, creasing his eyebrows. "So I think that warrants my concern."

Dean rolled his eyes at his ridiculous brother, but then noticed the dark circles under his determined eyes, and softened immediately. Sam looked exhausted… they hadn't slept more than a few hours in the last couple of days and Dean didn't want to be the one who kept him up all night just because he refused to sleep.

"Sam… please get s-some s-sleep," Dean said as another violent shiver ripped through him, jarring his speech slightly. "Don't stay up on my account. I'll be fine… honestly."

Dean knew he wasn't going to convince his brother that he would be okay before he even finished his sentence. Hell, he didn't even convince himself.

Sam made a face. "I think your definition of 'fine' differs from mine, Dean. No, I'm staying up if you are."

Dean shut his eyes briefly, wishing Sam wasn't so stubborn.

"Fine," Dean said, giving in. "I'll attempt to sleep, as long as you go to bed too."

Sam perked up, smiling slightly ,at the fact that he convinced his brother. Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's almost like you want me to suffer," Dean grumbled, slightly irritated at how happy his brother was. "I hope you realize that sleeping and reliving those dreams again is going to cause me more pain than exhaustion will."

Sam's smile vanished, his expression changing to one of guilt. Dean immediately regret his words, and sighed. "It's fine. I'll go."

"Dean, I don't want to cause you any more emotional pain—"

"I'll be f-f-fine, S-S-Sam, h-honestly," Dean said, another shiver shaking him. He stood up, but the second he straightened his legs, his knees gave out.

"Whoa," Sam said, immediately catching his brother before he could fall to the ground. Dean's knees were shaking violently and he couldn't hold himself upright.

"Goddammit," Dean muttered, unable to stop his knees from wobbling. "This is embarrassing."

Sam led him over to the bed and he got down on it. He got under the covers and put his head down on the uncomfortable pillows. Sam turned the light off and then got into his bed, the springs on the mattress squeaking under his weight.

Silence filled the room, and Dean stared up at the ceiling. He was starting to feel slightly anxious again, and he wished everything would just disappear.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly, his voice breaking the silence.

"Yeah?"

"Will… Will you be okay?"

Dean sighed.

"I hope so, Sammy."

 _~End Chapter 3~_


End file.
